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Ah, California, my birth state. Breathe in that fine Californian air! *cough* *cough* *gag* Yup, just like I remember it. Sure, I still had some nostalgic attachment to this place. After all, I still had friends and family here. While the latter hardly acknowledged my existence, at least my friends were all eager to see me. Down the causeways, past the one-way security escalator, and out the sliding doors, we found ourselves waiting at the curb.

I dialed up R., master computer specialist. Of course we'd known him back when he led another tech company, some sort of computer advertisement firm if my memory served correctly. Back then he'd lived in a sweet spot near Hermosa Beach. Now, both his home and office were located in the Culver City area, only a short hop from the airport. As usual, R. answered promptly. He'd be there in fifteen minutes to pick us up.

R.'s shiny red Subaru pulled up about a half hour later to our happy, though exhausted, faces. Whizzing up to his apartment, I spied a Trader Joes market. "Oooh! Trader Joes!" I squealed with joy. After all those years away from California, I still missed the Salsa Authentica and macadamia nuts from Trader Joe's. One would think that in Hawaii, where macadamia nuts are grown, that the tasty little nutters would be cheap and plentiful. However, that is simply not the case. Sure, if you know a farmer you can get macnuts at 50 cents per pound... in their bulletproof shell. Then you can either buy a hammer or a $200 macadamia nut splitter. If you want shelled macnuts though, be prepared to pay $13.00 to $19.00 per pound, depending on the grade. That's the price you get when you slap the name 'Hawaii' on any product. Trader Joe's gets their mac nuts from Australia I think.

Entering R.'s apartment, we were instantly enveloped in maroon and red hues. I guessed incorrectly that the floor was cherry wood. I remembered when R. had sent me pictures of his move into and subsequent redecorating of this condo. A lot had changed, but I still recognized bits of artwork from his old place. He even had kept the little stuffed porupine 'Booda' that I had given him at a party years back.

Looking around, I noticed a large gray furball fleeing our presence. Puma, R.'s cat, didn't approve of guests. Puma sauntered haughtily over to the automatic food dispenser. For most households that would merely be a pseudonym for the pet's caretaker, but not in this condo. R. explained that if he put out a large bowl of food at the beginning of the day, then Puma would gorge herself sick, depositing said food around the house in little piles (such as found near the balcony). The automatic food dispenser doled out food throughout the day to alleviate such problems.

R. disappeared to his office till evening. Meanwhile we charged all our batteries, literally and figuratively. Eric reminded me to consult our schedule of friends online. Previous to our departure, I'd set up a calendar of the days we'd be in California and invited our local friends to add what days would work for them to hang out with us. Surprisingly, everyone had complied with the request. According to the schedule, Drew would be free that evening.

Andrew Leavenworth--healer, masseuse, acupuncturist, male belly dancer--one can't help but love the Prinz Andrew, the Drewbelly. The eternal optimist, with an understanding smile, he's very charming and will put you at ease, especially if he starts massaging you during the conversation. We hadn't seen Drew since he'd crashed at our apartment in Honolulu a couple years back. He'd been belly dancing at the gay pride festival as well as a couple other venues. I remembered walking along the Ala Moana beaches with him during that visit.

We arranged with R. and Drew to go out to dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant on South Fairfax. The Rahel Ethiopian restaurant is 100% Vegan, ensconced on a street with about five Ethiopian restaurants. So, competition can probably get a bit fierce at times. The first time I'd eaten there, with Drew of course, one place tried to get us to go to their restaurant instead, "No, you come here, come here!" they called out.

Arriving with R., we peered around wondering where on earth Drew had gotten to. Then I saw him... stepping out onto the curb, sauntering towards us. "Drew!" we called out. I ran up to him arms wide and gave him a great big hug. Ah the gang was together again.

Inside we took a seat in the dimly lit restaurant near the window. The alluring aroma of spices made my mouth water in anticipation. Eric took the delicately folded napkin and crowned his head with it for a laugh. We poured over the menu, wondering what we would get. Eventually we settled on a couple items that would give us a nice sample of flavors. The waitress arrived a short time later with a pitcher of water and basin. Eric took a second to realize that she wanted us to wash our hands for the meal. After all, we would be eating with our hands. We all took turns washing while the waitress poured warm water over our hands. We thanked her and she departed.

I could hardly wait for the food to arrive, but the conversation helped a bit. The last time I'd seen Drew, he had still been working far too hard at the American University of Complementary Medicine (AUCM), of which he pronounced their acronym AUCM, "awesome." Since then, however, Drew had gone into his own practice. I recalled the university well. Eric and I had spent all night on September 10, 2001 through the newt morning repairing their computers. The next morning, the 11th, we'd driven through the downtown LA area early that morning not knowing the significance that morning would hold.

Our food arrived in due time, a steaming platter from which we all would eat. Dollops of various curried dishes covered the base layer of injera, a tangy teff-flour pancake type bread. An additional basket of the injera at our side allowed us to scoop bits of the curries into our mouths. My goodness, the tangy bread, the wondrous spices, it all left me wishing we had an Ethiopian restaurant in Honolulu. We continued chatting while we ate, remarking at how good the food was, telling each other to try certain parts. It was one of those evenings you just wish wouldn't end.

Alas, we'd cleaned the plate, eaten every scrap of injera, and I kept finishing my water at a rate faster than the waitress could fill. Its not that I was drinking a lot of water, but the waitress didn't seem to be coming around that much. R. paid the bill, a gift of celebration at our being reunited. Fortunately, our night wasn't over. After all, we still had room for dessert!

Eric and R. took off back to the condo, while Drew and myself vroomed away in his diesel car. It was good to have some private time to chat with Drew. The car had been a gift he had received under some extensive circumstances he explained during the ride. He used to use vegetable oil for fuel, but his source had burned up, so to speak. We arrived at Whole Foods, and marched into the frozen foods aisle with purpose. We made the definitive decision of pie with ice cream. To be precise, a cherry pie with a mocha fudge soy delicious ice cream. Mmm yum! I split the bill with him, and we sped off to R.'s condo.

At this point we encountered some difficulty in finding the darn place. I'd only seen the place twice during daylight, and all the condo complexes just seemed to repeat in appearance over and over. Eventually, after some repeated calling to R., and the fortunate presence of a U-haul truck flashing its blinkers outside to serve as a marker, we found the place. Sometime later we were even able to find parking.

Upstairs, R. helped me launch the pie into the oven. Oleg, R.'s friend sharing the condo, was home. We recalled fondly when R. and Oleg had visited Honolulu a few years back. At that time we went out to eat at Keo's Thai restaurant and ate under the statue of a tree full of an anatomically correct family of monkeys.

Oleg helped serve the crispy pie with dollops of soy ice cream. We all relaxed on the red living room futons. Looking closely I noticed there were faint little red hippos inlaid on the mats covering the sofa. R., Oleg, and Drew enjoyed a glass of wine after their dessert. R. stroked his pussy which had leaped up into his lap, demanding servitude.

I tried to take plenty of pictures of the merry evening, but it became readily apparent that my $14 32GB SDHC card I'd bought from someone in Hong Kong off Ebay was faulty. I could only take about a dozen photos, at which point the rest would be corrupted. Attempting to take a video at that point met with endless attempts at writing to disc. Formatting the chip proved similarly futile. Alas, I'd have to drop by an electronics store the next day. I needed plenty of memory for pictures and video of the big trip to Europe.

Eventually the conversation wound down signaling the end to the evening. Thus, we bid adieu to our Drewbelly, with great big hugs and promises to see him again soon.